"Sharp, quirky, and occasionally nettlesome", Walking the Berkshires is my personal blog, an eclectic weaving of human narrative, natural history, and other personal passions with the Berkshire and Litchfield Hills as both its backdrop and point of departure. I am interested in how land and people, past and present manifest in the broader landscape and social fabric of our communities. The opinions I express here are mine alone. Never had ads, never will.

June 26, 2011

With less furniture and overall clutter in the house after the divorce, I've had the opportunity to play with the living spaces and try out new configurations. It makes it easier to steam clean the carpet, and it also afforded the chance yesterday to dust off (quite literally) my embarrassingly extensive toy soldier collection. I had the whole thing out on the dining room floor while I shifted bookcases around, and figured this was as good a time as any to give you a good look before they go back on the shelves.

I started collecting 54mm matte finished metal toy soldiers from the American Civil War period back in the late 1990s. My historic interests and discretionary income, such as it is, are now directed elsewhere, and while there are a few things I would have liked to have added to what I have amassed, I no longer feel compelled to do so. I will never have the space to make the dioramas on the scale these deserve that I dreamed of as a boy, with my much less expensive toy soldiers, be they 1970s vintage Britains painted plastic or 15mm Airfix "model men". Heck, I am my own, life size toy soldier when I muster with the Jerseys with my Brown Bess and cocked hat.

There are half a dozen makers represented in this toy soldier army. The majority of them are from William Britian (1999-2001 and then again after the company was sold to First Gear with the current excellent line) or Conte Collectibles 2000-2004 before they became oversized and grotesque. There are a few from Old Northest Trading Company, and Troiani Historical Miniatures, both among the brilliant scultptor Ken Osen's ventures before he returned to Britains. Troiani is no longer in business, and neither is Forward March, nor is Soldier Gallery which made a few greatcoated Irishmen for Fredericksburgh, and from which an officer and drummer boy are part of my collection. There is also a union 1st sgt of cavalry and a firing line of Brooklyn chasseurs from Colletor's Showcase. and a Russian made color bearer from Kentucky's "Orphan Brigade". Lately, though, I have been strictly interested in Britains, and added a Union field hospital to the leadpile last year.

I wrote here in the Lakeville Journal about the Mountain Lion that was struck and killed by a car in Milford, CT, among other incipient arrivals in western New England. Fair use excerpt:

"The Connecticut Department of Environmental Protection is working on the standard hypothesis that this was an illegally held captive animal that somehow got loose, perhaps wandering over from New York, as the eastern mountain lion is officially extinct outside of the Florida panther subspecies.

Preliminary investigation of the specimen, however, confirmed that it had not been neutered or declawed and was a lean animal, which does not strengthen that hypothesis, so they are waiting for DNA tests.

Moose have been known to wander to Long Island Sound, but it is hard to imagine a viable population of cougars becoming established on Connecticut’s Gold Coast. The western mountain lion, however, visits backyard swimming pools and overlaps with encroaching development in the wildland/urban interface. They are expanding their ranges east and, like the coyote before them, it is only a matter of time before a few of these big cats wander into our region (if, indeed, they have not already done so).

Wildlife officials often say that if we had mountain lions here, there would be physical evidence from collisions with cars. There is one such example of that now, and it will be very interesting to learn whether this was truly someone’s pet or a long-ranging pioneer from Illinois and points west."

June 22, 2011

Last night the twilight lingered long past 9:00. I stepped outside into the warm evening air and instead of turning toward the street I headed into the backyard and out to the gardens that face the meadow. It is not a large field, less than two acres on the assessor's map and further reduced by boundary incursions from various neighbors. The rank grass and remnants of wild apple trees slope into wet meadow before reaching the neighbors on the far side. It is flanked on the west and south by a screen of mature trees. The elderly owner of the field lives in Kansas but grew up here, and she keeps it undeveloped because of the fringed gentian she remembers from her childhood. There are very few of these flowers left in the field, but it is prime firefly habitat, and on Midsummer's Eve they were out in great profusion.

I have watched them in early summer ever since moving here in 2002. Cold evenings dampen their glow, but warm nights with the mist rising send them wisping through the air, over the tassels of uncut grass and through the branches of the apple trees. A few outliers may venture into the shadows of my garden but they avoid the lawns and other managed places, and when the field is cut their dance is done. Every year I hope that the mower will be delayed, that the old man with the tractors who lays the grasses down to maintain the owner's claim will postpone his passes through the field so the fireflies will linger.

This is a timed event, like sap rising in Spring and wild geese heading south in September. My garden path ends at a wrought iron gate with nothing but magic and wonder in the rank meadow beyond. I am loathe to leave when the faeries dance under the hazy stars. Long may they return.

June 21, 2011

I participated in my first reenactment since the early 1980s last week, attending both days of the Battle of Monmouth commemoration with my regiment, the 1st New Jersey Continental Line. Here I am, free from facial hair for the first time in decades, and without a uniform coat or hunting frock as the day was warm and I am currently without either garment. Otherwise, my clothing and equipment have really come together. I bought a pair of leather garters to go with a new pair of knitted linen socks.

This was the shakedown cruise for my gear and garb as well as my impression, and I am gratified by the good results. I am still learning the feel of my long land pattern Brown Bess musket and how to get optimal performance from it, but it still fired about half the time I pulled the trigger so I think this will improve with practice.

I am very happy with tinsmith Carl Giordano soldier's cup, which as you can see is still shiny enough to shave with but now has a couple of satisfying dents from my landing on it when I became a casualty on Saturday

I will be sewing the buttons on my gaiters much closer to the leg, as they were nowhere near tight enough for me to wear them last weekend. My canteen did not leak, my salt pork did not give me trichinosis, and best of all, the blue breeches made for me by the Captain's wife were comfortable and a good fit. She insists on making a couple of minor alterations before she will be satisfied, and I cannot refuse such a gracious lady, so she has them for the next couple of weeks and promises to mail them to me before the next engagement (July 17th-18th, Wyoming Valley, PA).

The camaraderie in camp and interaction with the public were highlights for me. People want to know what we are doing, and standoffish reenactors at public events miss the opportunity to engage their curiosity. One does get strange questions - "Do any of you know how to use a camera?" - but historical interpretation is the best chance for keeping funding for historic sites and living history museums, especially when visitorship is declining and public money has been cut.

I spent the first night in an enlisted man's tent, and discovered that while I can sleep on a wool blanket and half a bale of straw, just about everyone else makes consessions for modern comfort behind the flaps of a wedge tent. I wanted to set the bar pretty high for myself the first time out with the unit, and with the exception of camp food - the Jerseys know how to eat - and more thorough cleaning of my musket by modern means after the public has left for the day, I am unlikely to make nonperiod adjustments to my camp gear.

As for the engagements themselves, this was a much smaller battle than 2010 Monmouth, which was a featured event of the Brigade of the American Revolution that year. Even so, the American forces this time around - a few amalgamated battalions of Continental Line and Light troops, dismounted and mounted dragoons, militia and two cannon - greatly outnumbered our Royalist adversaries. Sunday's event was lighter still, and yet we managed to put on good show. I was in the front rank and the file on the far right on the second day, which meant everyone dressed the line off my position and I stuck like glue to my sergeant. I am the fellow in the red weskit in the left side of the picture of the Jersey's reloading after a volley. My barrel is depressed in a way that would make Von Steuban swear "Scheise bey Scheise!" but I needed to dump powder after a flash in the pan. I had one case of a double shotted round and not even the flashguard deflected the blast from the pan from my sergeant's cheek, but he did not hold it against me and besides, the NCO hanger at his side kept sticking me in the leg so we are all even there.

I had a dear friend in the audience who took some of the pictures that follow. Enjoy.

June 10, 2011

Next month’s History Carnival (the Centennial Edition) will be hosted by Walking the Berkshires on July 1st. The last time I was host was History Carnival LVI , and have lost neither my sense of humor nor my eclectic tastes, so if you leave it up to me to showcase worthy history posts you will be in for a wild ride. Actually, this is more or less a certainty, but bring out your best and I'll do the rest.

June 08, 2011

My children know that when you go looking for Box Turtles, you will not find them, but when you live where they live, it often happens serendipitously. This old tortoise was walking across the cut in the bank that leads to the beach at Windrock. The Massachusetts Heritage and Endangered Species Program lists the eastern box turtles as a species of Special Concern in the Commonwealth. I sent in a record from our property a number of years ago, making the surrounding area priority habitat and ultimately strengthening the environmental significance of the open space protection efforts that have saved so much of Great Neck from the heavy development pressure that has affected the remaining woodlands and shoreline of this coastal community. Windrock itself qualified for Chapter 61B, a "current use" open space tax abatement program,, based on the environmental condition of our property and we cited the presence of this species to help make that case..When our neighbor cleared a part of the woodlands between us to build a stately home, the order of conditions for the construction work mandated a turtle barrier around the build site.

We are delighted to be sharing this land with these turtles. I have the same thrill when I spot one of their long necks peering above a patterned shell that I felt as a child.

June 01, 2011

Tonight I will watch for fireflies by the garden gate. The field grass and wild apple branches will be thick with rising mist as daylight fades. I will stand with my children and together we will trace those meandering lights in their hundreds out in the meadow.

In the procession of the season, fireflies and mountain laurel blossoms are among June's finest offerings. They follow the ephemeral glory of the woodland wildflowers and anticipate the wild berries of early summer. The laurel will blush and bloom for a couple stunning weeks in June, and the fireflies will linger on until the mower lays the tall grass down.

My children count the days until Summer vacation - almost to the hour - but I mark the passage of time by the growth and change that is going on all around us. I see the Orioles weaving their nests in the oak tree, and snapping turtles hauling their ponderous forms out of the swamps to lay their eggs. I see the starter plants in my vegetable garden rapidly filling in what always feels at the outset like ample space between them.

This will be the year when Elias learns to be a stronger swimmer, and dares remove the training wheels from his bicycle. This will be the summer when Emily brings a friend (and a boyfriend, no less), to Windrock for the weekend. The day is coming soon when I will shave my beard and mustache and put on wool and linen to participate in the annual reenactment of the Revolutionary War battle of Monmouth Court House.

I want to run my hands over the tops of the grass, already wet with dew. I want to watch my wide-eyed children gently cup a firefly, and wander in the mountains when the laurel is in bloom. I do not want to miss any of this. You have to seek these timed moments of grace and wonder. The great wheel is always turning while it carries us forward.